


crowley's got two dicks in this one

by moeyandchandon (lokalelyen)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Sex, Anxious Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Body Worship, Canon - Book, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Character(s) of Color, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crying During Sex, Double Penetration in One Hole, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hemipenis, Humiliation, M/M, Monsterfucking, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Specifically A Hemipenis, Transformation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-01-23 10:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21318517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokalelyen/pseuds/moeyandchandon
Summary: “Hadn’t gotten the whole shape right, back then,” Crowley groaned. “I was all… weird, and too scale-y, y’know? Hadn’t known anything about, getting rid of horns, or the tail-”“Oh, hush.”(...)“I, er.” Crowley hung his head, deigning to face away from Aziraphale’s intent gaze, and from his own atypical efforts. “It had been a human one, before, uh. You know. But then you went and, ah, mentioned… that day, and it just sort of...”Crowley loses control of his form and Aziraphale loves it. Copious amounts of crying and dramatic declarations of love and commitment abound.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 196





	crowley's got two dicks in this one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [walkwithursus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkwithursus/gifts).

> This is a birthday gift for Brapp, an absolute lad who's been nothing but supportive of my bullshit endeavors in the realm of Good Omens smut writing. When he mentioned wanting to see more content of Crowley with a hemipenis + explicitly fat Aziraphale, I basically strapped up my slutty little boots and rose to the challenge to get this done in time for his day of birth. Because this _is_ a gift fic, I specifically tailored this to his preferences - those preferences namely being Crowley Getting Owned and Unapologetic Monsterfucking. Hopefully other people are also into that, but make sure to check the tags to see if it's right for you before proceeding.
> 
> Now, to the porn.

Crowley always had been quite particular about his physical forms, much like how he was with just about everything else. For as long as Aziraphale could remember, Crowley was always crafting his human persona together through only the most carefully constructed artifice – the demon Crowley had a specific idea as to what kind of human Anthony J. Crowley was, or at least should be. The human Anthony J. Crowley had tasteful and expensive minimalist furniture, luxury suits starched sharp enough to cut vegetables by, and those absurdly sleek little trinkets, the flat-screen televisions and computers. Never mind that the demon Crowley never spent any significant amount of time in that Mayfair flat, that he near-constantly tugged at those stiff sleeves of his suit jackets, and that his supposedly technologically-savvy self had been the one who needed Aziraphale’s explanation as to the concept and significance of ‘Googling’ back in the year 2000. It was never about living the actual life of that hypothetical human that Crowley pretended to be – it was about the performance of it all, of appearing to be this very human ideal of professionalism for a certain hellish audience.

Aziraphale generally considered himself above such pageantry, and he tended to be a tad more straightforward with his interest in humanity and their various inventions over the years. He kept everything that struck his fancy – before books, he’d been collecting everything from clay tablets and papyri to linen scrolls and pressed bark. He was well aware that by now the spaces where he settled tended to look rather anachronistic, with all of the various written records and the furniture and the swords* besides. He had no rhyme or reason as to what he kept, what he wore, or what he did, other than that there was something that he simply enjoyed and wished to preserve in them. While Crowley carefully coordinated each part of his outfit to the point of it being an empirical science, Aziraphale had once wore a tweed smoking jacket paired with tartan trousers and white trainers to lunch simply because it was what had felt most comfortable at the moment, and Crowley had so graciously pretended not to notice the egregiousness of this for the entire time they had been out.**

* Which all had been proudly displayed in their own glass cases for the longest time in the cramped flat above the bookshop, before they’d gotten the cottage. He’d developed a habit of collecting swords of a more Earthly nature sometime around 3300 B.C., when he’d come across a rather lovely kilij in what was now Turkey, and he decided that it simply would have been a neglect of the exercise of his heavenly mandate if such a powerful weapon were to come into the possession of the forces of evil. Unlike the books, some of which he would begrudgingly sell under dire circumstances, he never could part with any of his swords. Once had been enough, after all.

** As soon as they had set foot in the bookshop, however, Crowley had relentlessly needled him on the trainers especially. Aziraphale stood by his purchase - he’d bought them at a top-of-the-line sporting goods store in the early 80’s on a whim, and they stayed in mint condition for the entire time they had been in his care, even after repeated use in wet London weather. They were rather conducive for the occasional bout of intensive walking, he thought.

He knew Crowley like he knew ancient Mesopotamian economics, Ottoman Empire-era astronomy, and where all of the best curry houses in London were. And he knew that in 6000-odd years, Crowley had never truly seemed comfortable in his, er, skin, rather bracing himself against his human persona like a shield - however, here in their lovely and verdant garden behind their shared cottage in the South Downs, Crowley looked more relaxed than Aziraphale had ever seen him before. They were currently under a particularly sturdy apple tree, and they were both very much wine-drunk and sprawled across a picnic blanket. From where he lay, he could see Crowley dart out a thin, serpentine tongue – no doubt taking in the heady scent of spring in the air, of the fruits and flowers he’d taken the utmost diligence in caring for over the years.* His sunglasses were lazily perched on the bridge of his Grecian nose, permitting Aziraphale to sneak a glance at those lovely amber eyes.

* He’d have gone right back to threatening the poor dears, something about needing them to be vigilant and to watch their stems at all waking hours, but Aziraphale wouldn’t have it if he had anything to say about it – after all, there was nothing they needed to watch out for, not anymore. It had taken the better part of three decades of them living together to get him to loosen up just a smidgen, though Aziraphale wasn’t entirely convinced he could ever stop Crowley from shooting withering looks at under-performing begonias for as long as he still lived and occasionally breathed.

“Darling?”

“Hm?” Oh, how he adored the lilt in Crowley’s voice in moments like these, when he wasn’t so caught up in attempting to be suave. “What’s up, angel?”

He rolled aside to lie on his belly, aligning himself to really get a good look at Crowley’s face – sharp, inquisitive, and almost regal. It was a face that was unanimously handsome, yet Crowley had taken care to ensure that it wasn’t so remarkable that he couldn’t disappear in a crowd at a moment’s notice. It was honestly very ingenious of him, but those were only the technical aspects behind the human facade. No, he simply loved Crowley’s face because it was Crowley’s face, and it so beautifully expressed the whole extent of his curiosity, his kindness, his tenderness.

“...Er,” said Crowley, “you were saying…?”

“Ah.” He’d been staring again, hadn’t he. “Forgive me, my dear, I don’t recall what it was I wanted to say.”

Here, Crowley propped himself on his elbows so that he could meet Aziraphale’s gaze; his sunglasses slid further down his nose, fully exposing those wide, eternally-searching eyes. He raised a dark eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a cheeky little grin, one that Aziraphale couldn’t help but wipe off his infuriatingly charming face in one fell swoop. Crowley initially gasped at the kiss, but easily reciprocated - then, in what seemed like a fraction of a second, Aziraphale was sat upright and his lap was firmly occupied, while nimble fingers started threading through the tight coils of his hair. He was laughing, or perhaps they both were; it was quite difficult to tell, tangled as they were in this clumsy embrace.

He pulled back and took a moment to catch his breath, suddenly remembering what had just been on his mind. “Do you remember our first close encounter at all?”

“Hmm?” Crowley had started to bury his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck while idly playing with his hair. “If I recall correctly, it’d been raining like anything then, and you were kind enough to extend a wing-”

“No, no, the other kind.”

“Eh?”

“I mean...” He gave a rather undignified snort. “Oh, I’ll come out and say it – the first time we shagged.”

Crowley pulled back to look at him, and his tanned skin was quickly flushing red. “Ah – _ ah_. Well, I… yes, but, er, why’re you thinking of that all of a sudden?”

“It was on a day not unlike this,” he said, feeling himself smile at the memory, “nice and sunny, and we’d spent a good long while rolling around in the grass-”

“Oh, for Sss-Someone’s sss-sake, sss-spare me the embarrassssment...” He’d gone right back to hiding his face, this time in the crook of Aziraphale’s armpit.

“It was quite enjoyable, I thought. Clumsy, yes, but it was our first time-”

Crowley’s groan of protest was muffled under the wool of Aziraphale’s jumper.

“-and we’d only ever observed the humans going at it before then, you know, so some inaccuracies would have been inevitable-”

“Hadn’t gotten the whole shape right, back then,” Crowley grumbled. “I was all… weird, and too scale-y, y’know? Hadn’t known anything about, getting rid of horns, or the tail-”

“Oh, hush.” He reached out to gingerly cup Crowley’s jaw in his hand, and he could see the twin mirror images of his own face reflected in the dark sunglasses. Slowly, he pulled the spectacles off and set them aside, exposing the entirety of Crowley’s expression; brows knit, eyes wide, pupils blown, lips quivering, with that lovely blush colouring his cheeks. His husband looked down, then up, then back down, and his forked tongue darted out from between his lips almost sheepishly – Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel horribly fond. “You know that I love you, horns and tail, and all.”

“Really?” Crowley’s lips quirked up in one of those nervous little smiles, the kind that threatened to waver with even the slightest change in the breeze. “You’d still shag me even if I go all weird and scale-y on you?”

“Of course, don’t be silly.” He leaned in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “As long as I know that it’s still you, my dear boy.”

It truly looked as if all the blood pumping through Crowley’s vessel had started to rush to his head in an instant; well, not just his head, as he could feel a certain weight pressing up against the curve of his rotund belly, right around where Crowley’s crotch would be resting. He couldn’t resist chuckling - oh, how predictable his husband was, at times.

“Ah.” Crowley’s eyes darted to and fro, trying not to look at Aziraphale head on. “That’s, er, comforting to know, I guessss-”

Of course Aziraphale had to kiss him, with all the gentleness that he deserved. The hand that had been on Crowley’s jaw was now cupping the back of his neck, while the other one trailed down the subtle folds of his belly before coming to rest on his erection, palming it through his trousers. After a moment, he noticed that it felt… strangely thicker than what was usually there, though he would be the last to complain about that detail. Just to satisfy his idle curiosity, he began to pull back the zipper…

“...Oh, _ Crowley_.” He couldn’t help but beam at what stood proudly before him – a positively gorgeous set of hemipenes, both appendages flush and sticky with mucus. And then there were those _ spines_. “I haven’t seen these since, well...” He racked his brain for the memory, which honestly felt a bit too fuzzy around the edges for his comfort. “It had been sometime after Eden, wasn’t it?”

“I, er.” Crowley hung his head, deigning to face away from Aziraphale’s intent gaze, pointedly not looking at his own atypical efforts. “It had been a human one, before, uh. You know. But then you went and, ah, mentioned… that day, and it just sort of...” He brought a trembling hand up to his mouth, and Aziraphale felt him shudder against his own body.

“Crowley?” He gently pushed Crowley’s head back to see his face in full, only to find that hot tears were steadily streaming down his face. “Oh, my, I - would you rather I-”

Crowley quickly shook his head. “No, no – don’t stop, please,” he stammered, before taking a deep breath. “It’s just… You’re too good to me and I… I love you a lot, you know. It just, it gets a bit too much to handle at times, I suppose.” Aziraphale wordlessly wiped the tears from his cheeks and from the corners of his eyes, and Crowley drew out a long, grateful sigh, wrapping his hands around his shoulders before he said, “Sorry, angel, I’m being silly again, but…”

“No, you’re absolutely not.” He carefully brushed Crowley’s long, salt-and-pepper hair away from his face before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “It’s alright, darling, my dear heart - let me take care of you, alright?”

Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale began to kiss a column down his neck towards his collarbones, fastidiously undoing the buttons of his polo shirt along the way. Eventually, when he’d shrugged all of his clothes off, Crowley began to lie back on the blanket, letting out a startled little gasp when Aziraphale grabbed at the curve of his hipbone – then, he let out a moan when Aziraphale’s lips suddenly pressed against the tip of one cock, his thumb stroking the tip of the other.

He took his time with it, languidly tonguing at one while he slowly thumbed at the other, taking a certain satisfaction in feeling Crowley keen under his touch. He continued to tease, occasionally taking a deep swallow or making a well-timed stroke before going back to his incremental pace – soon, when he saw a trembling hand grip at the blanket, he could swear that he could see the shimmer of scales reflecting the light of the afternoon sun.

Now that was interesting, he thought; he knew that Crowley was more liable to let his glamour slip when he was under duress, though he’d never seen this manifest in the middle of arousal before – if it had, either he’d simply never noticed, or Crowley was actively hiding this information from him. Thousands of years together, and he was learning new things everyday... This was certainly worth exploring further.

He palmed both of Crowley’s cocks in his plump hands, the flexible spines* bristling in his grasp, and aligned them so that they were fully parallel with each other.

* Which were more comparable to the bristles of a particularly stiff toothbrush than, say, the spines on a hedgehog’s back. Though that would have made for a different - and perhaps not very pleasant - experience altogether.

“How utterly divine these look,” he purred. “It really is a shame, how long you’ve kept these from me... I rather missed having them around.”

When he was satisfied with the arrangement, he gave them both a long, broad lick from the base of the cloaca to the tip of each appendage before quickly taking them in his mouth, where he felt them twitch enthusiastically. It took some time for him to adjust to the heft of the two penises, but he managed as he relaxed his throat and dipped down – he thanked Someone that he was able to take both of them, of course he could, no reason to expect that he couldn’t – soon, he felt them hit the back of his throat, the spines tickling the insides of his cheeks, and he swallowed thickly before proceeding to lift his head back up and repeating the motions until he’d settled into a nice rhythm.

All the while, he’d opted to keep his eyes peeled for any more changes in Crowley’s form; his chest, though rising and falling at an increased rate, didn’t seem to be anymore scale-y than that of the average human. Well, that simply wouldn’t do.

He let his teeth scrape against the undersides of Crowley’s cocks – not enough to hurt, and not for too long, but rather for the benefit of added stimulation - and he was rewarded with a high, startled cry, coupled by the sudden rippling of the skin on Crowley’s torso turning into iridescent scales. The sight was, pardon his French, absolutely heavenly; his husband’s head thrown back in pleasure, his flushed, sweaty skin glinting under warm sunlight, transforming into shiny scales that caught the sun’s rays even more exquisitely... And all because he couldn’t control himself around Aziraphale, what a thought!

And with a single thought, his own clothes were off his body and the spring breeze was cool against his skin. He lifted his mouth off of Crowley, the mucus from his cloaca leaving a viscous trail from his lips to the two erections. His own cock - human though it was - now sprung freely, and he could see Crowley’s eyes dart straight to it.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he warned, though not unkindly, “now don’t go worrying your little head about me, my love. I’ll manage for now, just think of this as an act of charity.”

“You’re being charitable?" Crowley managed a breathy, voiceless wheeze. "That’s a first.”

“Mhm.” He stood up for a moment and spared a glance at Crowley's prone form, still spread out on the blanket. What a pretty picture he made: so naked and vulnerable against the cotton spread, surrounded by grass and flowers on all sides; the sun streaming through the leaves of their old apple tree that painted his body in soft, dappled light, gleaming golden scales stark against brown skin. “Perhaps it is, my dear boy - but today I’m inclined to indulge you, so I’ll keep mum.”

The smug arsehole grinned. Aziraphale supposed that he was allowed this small reprieve – after he was through with him, he was certain that there wouldn’t be any room in that big head of his for cheeky remarks. He knelt back down, firmly parting Crowley’s legs with his hands, then positioned himself so that he was hovering above his husband’s erections. Now, the arsehole’s grin was replaced with a look of surprise. “Angel, what-”

He guided Crowley into place with one hand, then proceeded to seat himself - aided in part to a minor miracle on his end – and he moved slowly, feeling himself being gradually widened and filled up, those spines brushing against his walls, until he was finally seated to the hilt. Now, Crowley let out a long, sputtering breath, biting his hand to keep from crying out, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the gleam of white fangs poking at his flesh.

As he began to roll his hips, slowly riding both dicks with practiced ease, he fixed his gaze on Crowley’s face in an attempt to gauge his reactions. And his husband certainly didn’t disappoint; he was well and truly flustered as he furiously bit into the flesh of his hand, his nose wrinkling as he firmly screwed his eyes shut.

“I’d forgotten just how extraordinary these felt,” said Aziraphale, punctuating with a quick thrust downwards. “They make me feel so _ full, _darling...”

Crowley’s entire body shuddered as the scales began to spread outwards from his torso, blanketing his arms and neck. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s legs underneath him turn cool and hard, contrasting against his own fever-hot skin, and his amber eyes snapped open as he started to notice his sudden transformation. He made a wretched little noise, and Aziraphale could just anticipate the long-winded apology that he knew his husband would get into, and he already did not care to hear it.

“I love you,” he said, lightly squeezing Crowley’s scale-covered shoulders. “And I do mean _ all _of you - it’s alright, don’t you worry.” He then cupped the back of Crowley’s neck with one hand and pulled him in for another kiss, gentle and reassuring. Crowley’s reaction was immediate as the tears flowed freely, as his chest began heaving, as sobs began wracking his entire body; rather too preoccupied to reciprocate Aziraphale’s kissing, but that was alright. He needed comfort, of which his angel was all too happy to provide him.

Aziraphale stilled for a moment as he ran his hand up from Crowley’s neck through the dark, silky locks of his hair. Crowley really took such good care of his hair - it flowed like water between his fingers, and it smelled rather lovely, of petrichor and apple blossoms. Usually, while riding him, he would tug and pull at these long, thick strands until his husband would be whimpering from the strain, but he really was feeling charitable today. Of course, the way Crowley was currently filling Aziraphale up, the spines of his hemipenes bristling against him as he rocked back and forth, was certainly more than enough indulgence that he could possibly ask for; however, in all their years of indulging one another, he rather got the impression that his now-husband had always felt somehow inadequate, or unworthy of attention. He was always so eager to please Aziraphale, and rarely did he ever let him return the favour...

It simply _ wouldn’t _ do.

Aziraphale dipped down to kiss at Crowley’s jaw, currently clenched shut, presumably in a desperate effort to not wail his heart out. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, my dear,” he murmured, resuming the ministrations of his hips. “You know that. I swore to you, I swore that I would… As long as we’re here, together, I will always love you, for as long as I possibly can...”

The only way that he could describe the way that Crowley was trembling was _ violently_. Aziraphale could feel the shape of the emotions that he was currently feeling, if he concentrated; it was akin to a newly forged broadsword suddenly being plunged into snow, the rapid rise of steam and the melting of ice. Indeed, his own heat played rather nicely against the coolness of Crowley’s new scales, which by this point covered every inch of his body, as he began rolling his hips faster and faster - Aziraphale felt molten with the sensation of fullness coupled with the stimulation of the spines inside of him.

“You’re so good, Crowley,” he moaned, “you’re always so _ good _ to me.”

With a particularly drawn out hiss, the human face that Aziraphale had earlier contemplated morphed into something alien yet vaguely familiar: the eyes grew bigger, the bridge of the nose flattened until all that was left were nostrils, the eyebrows and lips scaled over, but it was still Crowley. It was Crowley, and that was all that ever mattered.

“My dear, sweet boy. My love, my heart.” He continued to press his lips at Crowley’s scales, which were indubitably firmer than human flesh. “There’s... nothing about you, that I,” he panted, “that I wouldn’t learn to love…” He could feel Crowley throbbing and pulsating inside of him now, could feel his own urgency grow as he picked up the pace, could feel himself getting closer, and closer...

There was a sudden noise of something unfurling, and an unmistakable rush of wind as Crowley shuddered and spilled inside him, crying out in the most delectable manner. Aziraphale promptly followed suit, spilling all over Crowley’s scales, screwing his eyes closed with the effort of it - when he’d opened them again, he was treated to an exquisite sight. There lay his husband with his finely serpentine features, his golden scales shimmering in the light, two ivory horns poking outwards from his dark hair and two majestic, colourful wings spread out beneath him.

The bristle of the spines coupled with the relative girth of Crowley’s combined hemipenes made pulling out a bit of an ordeal, if he were being frank, but Aziraphale nonetheless managed. He settled to lie on his side next to him, just to admire his husband’s chimeric form: much like an average angel’s, with two arms, two legs, and two wings, but with the addition of a long, thick tail, and the horns in lieu of a halo. If anyone were to ask an angel, they’d consider such beastly features to be a corruption of the angelic form, an indicator of their status as the Fallen; and if an angel ever said so to Aziraphale, he would gladly tell them that all of God’s creatures were beautiful, but _ especially _his serpent, so they could piss off for all he cared.

After a few moments of relative silence, save for the occasional burst of birdsong, Crowley finally spoke. “Gosh,” he said, “you really did a number on me, angel.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh, and he simply reached over to run his hand over the scales on Crowley’s chest in slow, idle circles.

“Hm. Haven’t had a cause to use this form in ages,” Crowley continued, surreptitiously flexing and examining a clawed hand. “S’too demony to walk around in, of course. Don’t need it when I got,” he paused, “most things, to look right.”

“You look dashing, my dear.”

“You keep sss-saying that-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, “you do realize that I’ve _ just _ made love to you in this form, and I hadn’t ever recoiled, not once…”

“Well, yeah, but.” Crowley sheepishly peered up at Aziraphale, his eyes now unimpeded by sunglasses. “It’s you, Aziraphale. You’ve already seen me like this.”

Oh, he couldn’t help but be fond of this foolish, foolish demon. “Yes, I have. Your point being?”

“I, I don’t know, it’s just,” he sat up and began to gesture wildly, his rainbow-hued wings flexing from his back, “I don’t _ like _ looking like a demon, you know.”

“Mhm.”

“Definitely not my favourite shape to be in.”

“Perhaps it isn’t,” said Aziraphale, resting his hand against the steady beat of Crowley’s heart, “but it _ is _ you, regardless, and I’ll love you all the same.”

Another moment of silence passed before Crowley broke it with a cheeky grin. “Would you love me enough to rail me again, angel?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” he said, but he was smiling, too.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to extend a brief shout-out to the other lads from Hashtag Crowley Revived the Dove whose continued support and camaraderie helped bring this weird shit into existence: namely, Bird, Gray, and Toast. Honorable mentions also go to Nuke and Esra for reading through this fic in its initial draft stages and promptly losing their shit at me. Y'all are great.
> 
> As always, direct any and all complaints to [my tumblr](http://moeyandchandon.tumblr.com). Stay frosty.


End file.
